


dog teeth.

by parthevia



Series: reincarnation au. [1]
Category: Magi: The Labyrinth of Magic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, Reincarnation, Sinbad/Drakon fuckbuddies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-12 11:26:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29508981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parthevia/pseuds/parthevia
Summary: "In another life, maybe. I think I could wait forever, should I need to."**previously "cherry wine."
Relationships: Jafar/Sinbad (Magi)
Series: reincarnation au. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2177730
Comments: 16
Kudos: 21





	1. prequel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the line break indicates a time skip from when sinbad relinquishes the sindrian throne. 
> 
> this portion takes places in canon, the next chapter is reincarnation au following this!

_he handed me a pair of pliers._

·

There was a specific disconnect of this world, that few were aware of, if any at all, and it was one of immense fabrication— he was a skilled man, after all. Only under the embrace of his bedsheets did the façade fall, and the walls could crumble in the serenity of the moonlight.

It sounded dramatic, he knew, yet it felt as though it was his truth. After all, Sinbad was the High King of the Seven Seas, the remarkable multi-dungeon capturer who's stories were heard by all, the mere makings of a legend by the time he was fourteen. To form that, he had to play the proper part, of course. From sunrise, Sindria saw their radiant King at his best, in the pristine clinking of his metal vessels, the voice that spoke with absolute conviction, they fed from the hand that was calloused, yet safe. When one would sneak a glimpse at Sin, it was evident that he was nothing less than the ideal leader, accompanied by his breathtaking smile. 

This was a calculated fact of this world. 

It was lonely at the top, though, which could not be cured by empty nights spent with beautiful women, or the guzzling of sweet cherry wine until his vision was blurred. Those things were mere puzzle pieces, shuffled into this persona in order to seem of more sincerity. To be a bumbling, successful ruler who was as fun-loving as any commoner was the outward perspective— it helped in gaining the trust of others. It made him seem more _human._

But in these rare moments of solitude, this was abandoned, and those golden eyes were as good as empty. His chamber walls housed a different man, one that would peel off every inch of his flesh if it meant he could get away from himself. Sinbad didn't hate himself. 

He just didn't understand how he could have let things turn out like this. 

He wasn't David, but everytime he had to look at himself, he wasn't so sure, anymore. He'd step down from Sindria soon, and perhaps then, he would find this situation to be easier to navigate. 

This body was dirtied. 

"Sin," came a gentle voice, unexpected at this hour. With a deep inhale, he composed himself enough to interact with whoever decided to bother him, so late in the night. 

While he could have pretended to be asleep, he couldn't deny that he would rather do something than be stuck with his thoughts, even for a moment. "Isn't it a little late to be bothering me?" His tone held a teasing quality. 

The door opened, and for a split second, he felt like a teenager, again. Ja'far stood in his evening robes, a sullen expression stitched into his face. "I. . . don't mean to be a nuisance, your Majesty." He looked tired. "May I speak with you?" 

Replying with a nod, Sin shifted his weight to the side of the mattress, indicating that Ja'far was to come sit with him, which he obliged to. As children, they often shared a bed, and spoke late into the night, about anything and everything. These days, though, he felt as though he was speaking to a stranger when his advisor came around. 

"May I speak freely, my King?" 

"I would prefer if you did, Ja'far. You know that." 

"I miss you." 

Silence settled between them. Ja'far had taken to sitting with his slender legs pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees, like he did when he was a kid— never wanting to take up too much of the precious space. Sin, however, had laid back down, purple hair splayed across the white linen, untied, and his eyes resting shut. 

Looking at Ja'far was hard for him, anymore. 

"I haven't gone anywhere." 

The candle flickered, their shadows dancing across the adjacent wall. 

Ja'far kept his own gaze glued to the bedframe. Sin didn't know that it was equally difficult for him to look at his King, too. "You have." The response was laced with an aching heart. "Why have you closed yourself off from me?" 

So he had noticed, after all. 

"I don't know what you mean, Ja'far. Everyone's been so busy, since the Kou conflict ended." 

"You haven't been this far away from me since I got you back from Mariadel." 

It stung, but there were no knives pressed to his neck, like the ones the former assassin used to threaten him with. He didn't look at anyone for months after he escaped Maader, and cried mercilessly everytime he would let his body rest. 

That was a long time ago. 

"What's _wrong,_ Sin? Why won't you _look_ at me?" 

He wished for the moments where he'd get a mouthful from Ja'far, the scoldings where he'd be reminded that he was a King's vessel. The tangents the child would go on about how he had to dirty his hands in order to accomplish their dreams, Gods, Sinbad wished to be reassured. 

Yet, he feared asking for it may result in them speaking empty words to one another to try and find solace that would never see the light of day. Two people who used to take comfort in everything the other said, reduced to strangers. 

"Fine. Don't speak." Had Ja'far read his mind? He couldn't help but briefly open his eyes to look at the man, regretfully making locked eye contact. The emptiness of his usually vibrant stare was evident, and he couldn't even bother to suppress it. "You look so _sad,_ Sin. When I met you, every word that came out of your mouth was accompanied by fireworks. Where _are_ you?" 

"Your nostalgia blinds you, you know. Maybe you're finally seeing me properly, instead of through your rose-tinted glass." 

"You're wrong, you know that." 

Ja'far had moved himself closer, now, and didn't bother to ask for permission before cupping the coolness of Sinbad's cheek, stroking his thumb over the sunkissed skin. "I've never been the one to look at you like that, you're just hoping to shut me out with everyone else." 

He'd forgotten how perceptive his advisor truly was, and was caving, quicker than he wanted to. 

In a voice that was barely even comprehensible, Sin managed to force a string of words out, knowing he'd regret it, sooner or later. 

"Can you hold me?" 

There was no active reply, rather just Ja'far again, moving to accommodate, pushing his back against the headboard. With his lap as an open invitation to the King, Sin laid his head in the space, now forced to _really_ look at Ja'far. A pale set of fingers was now carding through thick locks of violet hair, massaging his scalp everytime they returned, and he didn't want to admit that it was making his stomach flutter all over again. 

They sat silently, Sin relishing in the ministrations that Ja'far had begun to go through, tracing over the individual features of the man's face. The pads of his fingers would brush across his eyelashes, and he kept his eyes closed so he wouldn't stop doing so. He knew Ja'far was doing this to ground him, and it made him feel so utterly human. 

"Are you angry with me, Ja'far?" 

"No, Sin. I'm worried." 

"I see." 

The one that knew the secrets of this world was Ja'far, after all, yet he stayed, even when being locked out on several occasions. 

"I wish you wouldn't pretend around me like you do everyone else." 

"I don't know what you mean." 

He did, he just usually had hoped that Ja'far didn't. It was easier for him to be left alone with his dirtied hands and empty heart. 

"You know, Sin, some days, I wish that there was something in this world that was enough for you. I would travel as many miles to find it, if I had to." A pregnant pause split up Ja'far's thought. "It's selfish, but I also wish that I was that something." 

Ah. 

"I know your dreams are meant to be mine, too, and I'm a disingenuous follower to think such things, yet, I can't help it." 

Sin abruptly sat himself upright, pulling Ja'far to lay facing him. "Care to elaborate?" Their noses brushed, and he began to study the familiar mess of freckles that kissed Ja'far's skin.

He could never truly be what Ja'far wanted, but he could pretend he could be, sometimes. 

"To be able to lay with you nightly, to look out over the skyline and know that this was your accomplishment. To know that the sea would never have you again, and to be certain that you were mine." Sin could feel the progressive stinging in his eyes. "But you're insatiable, I'm not a fool." 

Salty tears haphazardly dripped down his jaw, hitting the bed inconsistently, and it was definitively the calm before the storm— this pillow would be soaked, soon. "I'm not what you need, Ja'far." 

"No, Sin, I believe it's the other way around. You are, but I'm just not what you want. I always knew, looking at you, you were the boy destined to chase the sun. I could never compete, not with that radiance." 

They both knew he was fearful of burning his wings, but it would never stop him from doing so. Another moment of quiet turned those tears into a wave that Sin was so accustomed to, and he felt Ja'far's palm cupping his cheek again. 

"In another life, maybe. I think I could wait forever, should I need to." 

How this stupid boy he had picked up decades ago could break all essence of his composure in a mere few minutes was unbeknownst to him, but Sin couldn't pretend like it wasn't a breakdown he needed.

"I wish I could love you." Sinbad murmured, pushing himself forward to hide his pathetically soaked expression in the nape of his advisor's neck. "But I can't, and I don't know _why._ " 

It's because he was God's vessel, not a mere human that was permitted to feel such things. He was convinced of this by now, but he wasn't sure what life he was preferring to go down— testing fate wasn't on his near agenda, however. 

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he knew that in this moment, he wanted to be nothing more than flesh and blood, grasping onto Ja'far for what felt like life itself. Logistically speaking, Sinbad knew that's what it _truly_ was, yet he couldn't help but know his place in this universe was something more. 

·

* * *

·

It was a rare occasion, to hear the anger on the tinge of Sinbad's usual honey-like voice, the one he could ensnare anyone in— once in his grasp, it was impossible to escape, after all. Despite his chamber door being clasped shut, he knew for a fact that everyone in this ridiculous headquarters was going to know exactly what conflict was occuring in his office, and rushed messages would be sent to his former generals. Because Sinbad never got _mad,_ he was confident of his meticulous composure that was always successful in allowing him to get what he wanted. 

"Why are you in my office, still?" 

"I don't know _what_ you want, Sin." 

Ja'far stood directly in front of him, their figures shrouded by the moonlight peering in from the large, encapsulating windows. This conversation had been going on for quite some time now, beginning with a terse argument in the morning, continuing well into the hours of the day. It droned on, and on, but it was defined by one simple fact: Sinbad wanted something, but was refusing to disclose exactly what it was. The impatience was growing on Ja'far's usually calm features, eyebrows narrowed in irritation, knowing he had more prominent things to attend to. 

But Sin was _relentless_ in every conquest he took on, this being no different. "I don't see how you don't. You pride yourself so confidently on being my right-hand man, on being the one I turn to, yet you appear to know _nothing_ about me." He wasn't yelling, and the words were intended to maim, rather than do detrimental harm. 

"Correction, I know nothing about you when you shut everyone out and force me into submission." 

Ja'far was the only one permitted to speak to him in such a manner. At least, he was the only one allowed to, as of recent years. In Sindria, all of his friends were viewed as being his subordinates, but permitted to speak. Everyone knew something changed, at one point or another, following the Kou conflict. It worsened when he stepped down from the throne. 

He was Sinbad, High King of the Seven Seas, beloved by all and heard of by word of mouth by near everyone inhabiting this planet. . . but, no longer. 

He was cold-hearted, now, and he knew it. All remnants of the childlike wonder he once held had been eradicated, replaced by ice. It was of his own doing, but he was angry that he was losing Ja'far, as a cost. 

"It's not _me_ who's been distant with you. You haven't looked at me since I told you I couldn't love you, despite already being aware of it." 

"When will you stop lying to yourself, Sin?" 

Touché. 

Any reasonable human being would have stopped in their tracks and realized, eventually, that this was something that could be mended, should he lose his arrogance— but he was no mere human, was he?

God's vessel didn't need such commodities. 

"I'm not lying, you're just stuck in a memory." 

"There's legitimately no point in trying to fucking reason with you," Rurumu would have had Ja'far's fingers taped together for using such language, Sinbad noted, albeit absentmindedly. His advisor had turned on his heel with the empty comment, his stride breaking towards the door, yet he hadn't finished the thought. "I can play your little pawn as much as you desire, My King, but I cannot be both your toy and your emotional support. I'm stuck in a memory?" 

Ja'far's fingers were trembling when they reached the doorknob. "I'm stuck in a memory, you say, Sin," eyes of a snake met with the once brilliant ones of a King, and they stung like no other. "I dare to curse, and you look at though you're waiting for Rurumu to scold me. She's _dead._ She is dead, Sinbad, just as Vittel and Mahad are. Just as Mystras is. Just as everyone is who has fought in your _fucking_ name." He wasn't stopping. "I could wait for you forever, but I can't wait for someone who's nothing more than a name and a face." 

Sin could tell there was the semblance of tears pricking at the corners of Ja'far's tired expression, and once upon a time, he would have held the desire to reach out and take him into his arms. 

"You're not the man we chose to follow, you're the shell of a coward. All you do these days is talk about unifying the world on a larger scale, and how you were blessed with David's goals. You're an ambitious man, but you won't be once you're left with nobody to put you back together again." 

Usually the monologues he was given by his advisor left him with a desperate sense of motivation and adherence to his dreams, but tonight, he felt as though the emptiness had spread even further. 

"You can tell us you're not David all you please, you can bark at Arba for referring to you as such, you can demand to be called your name— but you're _not_ Sinbad. Goodnight, your Majesty, I have much better things to be doing than to listen to your incessant manipulation." 

The click of his office's door would have usually made him cringe, or he wouldn't of allowed Ja'far to have the last word, or maybe he would've strove to calm the conflict before allowing his. . . best friend, to leave in such a fashion. 

But as he dropped to his desk chair, if he had wanted to cry, he couldn't of. 

God's vessel shouldn't display such erratic emotions, and if he allowed himself to do so, then he might as well of been just another person. 

Sinbad would enter the Sacred Palace, and he would achieve this for more than just himself, regardless of if he was perceived as _selfish._ These individuals just didn't understand his true intent, the true desperation— it wasn't as though his dream had changed that drastically, anyways. 

·

Pipirika stood outside, like a child listening to her parents fight, which was no genuine surprise to Ja'far. She was no mysterious figure, with her Imuchakk blood causing her to stand tall over her superior. 

He wished she hadn't heard his comment made in the fit of a rage about Mystras, or about Rurumu, but he couldn't take it back, now. Not in the presence of Sin, and not in hers, either. The woman looked like a kicked puppy— as much as a six foot tall woman could look like one, at least. 

"I don't think you're getting through to him. Why do you keep trying?" She murmured, walking alongside the smaller man. "I feel like every night I'm listening to you both." They spoke in low tones, hoping to avoid their conversation being traced back to Sinbad himself. 

"Accompany me outside." He didn't wish to speak in this rancid building, after all. There were no gardens like there was in Sindria, here in Csitephon, but the night air would help him remind himself of better days. Or so he hoped. 

They walked on smoothed pavement, that Ja'far could never find himself getting used to. "He'll watch us from his office window, if we walk too far in that direction," so he steered them to the opposing side of the structure. Parthevia was once beautiful, and now looking out into the skyline, he could see no blanket of stars. 

"Do you remember how helpless you felt?" 

"Excuse me?" Pipirika was slightly faster at walking than her superior, so she was focused on her pacing, until he had halted, to ask her such a question. "I'm sorry, I don't really know what you mean by that." 

Their eye contact hurt. 

"Do you remember how helpless you felt, seeing Mystras so lifeless? So out of reach? Or how your brother looked, the despair in his face when he had to look at Rurumu?" 

He hadn't meant to make her cry, but he could see her expression melding into something he wasn't accustom to with her. She nodded. 

"Of course I do." 

"Can you tell me how you felt?" 

This was followed by a pause, her words not clearly forming in her mind at an intelligible level. The initial establishment of Sindria was a sore subject for all those involved, after all. 

"I felt as though the world was ending, and I think, for a little bit there, it kind of was." Pipirika's lips had perked into a smile, a clammy hand coming up to wipe away the tears forming in her eyes. 

He cut her short. "Were you angry, with Sinbad? Did you feel like he was to blame?" The wind brushed against their skin, and he mourned the warmth that Sindria once blanketed them with. 

With a shake of her head, she looked out into the darkened sky, and all of the brilliantly lit sectors of the capital of Parthevia. "Of course not. When you look at him, you kinda feel like you know he's going to make everything okay again. I like to think that's what Mystras and Miss Rurumu thought of him, too." 

Ja'far couldn't help but allow himself to smile at the idea. "That's why. He's always been the boy to chase the sun, and I have always been the one to stop him, because he's needed down here. To do what you said. To make everyone feel okay again." 

"Don't you think there's a point you have to let go, though?" 

It was his turn to ponder, so she continued in on her thought. 

"Sinbad is a _brilliant_ man, Ja'far, but. . . eventually, you start to realize that you can't save everyone. I mourned for years, feeling as though I could have saved Mystras. Feeling as though I could have stopped Hinahoho's suffering if I had been able to do something for Rurumu, but when the sun sets, I have to accept that they're gone, and they aren't coming back."

"And I commend you for being able to deal with such emotions, but clearly the reasoning is that he isn't. . . gone, yet." 

"Isn't he?" 

It hurt to hear. In fact, it pierced his very flesh to hear— the idea that even others had known how far Sin had strayed made his heart ache. The notion that Sinbad could be officially perceived as 'gone,' and had begun to be recognized as such. . . it really was too much, wasn't it.

She could sense that he didn't want to acknowledge this, quite yet. "I know how you feel about him, you know. Everyone does. We always have." With a fierce gesture, she took Ja'far's feeble hand in her own, squeezing it with slightly less force than she usually would. They stood, adjacent to one another, attempting to seek solace in the midst of the pitch-black abyss. 

"Sometimes, when you love someone, you have to let them go, as cheesy as it sounds, I guess." 

"Do you think Rurumu would be ashamed of what I have become? Of what I have condoned?" 

Pipirika abruptly paused their moment, jerking Ja'far to look directly at her, upon the mention of her sister in law, once more. With furrowed eyebrows, the woman placed burly hands on both of his shoulders, ensuring he understood what she was about to articulate to him— and Ja'far knew this. 

"Listen to me, and listen to me well. I do not care what you have done. I do not care what you have condoned, and neither would sister Rurumu. Your mother _loved_ you, more than anyone else on this planet, Ja'far. You are her first child, and you are her most beloved. Do _not_ doubt her, and do not doubt a mother's love." 

He felt himself fall into Pipirika's embrace, both of their tears falling unanimously, now. While they may not have been able to find proper comfort in one another, Ja'far felt a sense of calm wash over him as he bid his subordinate a goodnight, retiring himself to the confines of his own chambers. 

In here, there was no Sinbad. There was no High King of the Seven Seas with a stare that could melt mountains, there was no Rurumu that would scold him for his choice of language. There was no one to laugh with, but in the same breath, there was no one to judge him.

Sometimes, he wished that he could rest in the arms of his beloved, yet he also knew better than to believe there was anything resting in that room that was markedly Sinbad's. His scent may remain the same, as well as the feeling of his hands, but the heart that rest in the depths of his chest had been permanently altered. 

Despite this, Ja'far was well aware of the fact that he would, and could, wait forever, for that man. In every life, he would seek out an unruly head of purple locks, accompanied by the golden stare. 

In every life, he would seek the admiration of his King, but he could only wish that in one of them, the feeling would be reciprocated. 

·


	2. told me to pull out his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE NOTE BEFORE READING— there is discussion of alcohol, and the drugging of drinks. this is my content warning to you.
> 
> i would like to note, this is /not/ a teacher/student relationship fic. sinbad is twenty three, so he would be in his second year of graduate school. ja'far is 19. i have kept the original age gap on purpose.

_because as long as he'd had them he'd_   
_use them to do bad things_

·

It was two weeks into the semester, and every single time Ja'far had to trudge his body into his Intro to Philosophy lecture, (mind you, it was nine in the morning, every Monday, Wednesday, _and_ Friday), he felt as though the world was ending. From the hour it was scheduled at, perhaps, or more likely the subject matter of the course— philosophy was not his specific interest, after all. He was a sophomore, and he needed undergraduate work. 

However, every single time he entered this dreadful lecture hall, he was met with a wave of undeniable frustration. This likely was not over the droning material that he was forced to listen to for two hours, but he couldn't quite put his finger on the specific irritation. 

Today was Monday. And every single day, he sat himself in the second most row, next to a pretty girl. Not on purpose, but he had grown to like her, in the past. . . four class periods, now five, that he had attended. She was just as discontent with the idea of the theory of the universe as he was. She looked tired. 

"Good morning, Yamraiha." Ja'far murmured as he slipped onto the bench beside her, setting his barely-touched textbook on the wooden lecture desk. She had her cheek puffed out, as though she was pouting. "Is something the matter?" 

As she rooted through a pale blue backpack, she pursed her lips. "As a matter of fact, something is!" Placing her cellphone atop the desk, she gave a sour glare to the front of the classroom, directed towards the the T.A., who had been the one to deliver the content of the lectures since the second day. "The stupid T.A. marked my first essay poorly! How does someone do bad on their first assignment? What kind of instructor does that!" 

Stifling a laugh, Ja'far kept to himself that he received a near perfect score on said piece. "You could talk to him, it's much less intimidating that speaking to the profe—" 

She didn't even let him finish the thought, immediately letting out a cold laugh. "He's unreasonable! Any class that's taught by an assistant is bound to be near impossible anyways, they're always so full of themselves, as if they aren't just glorified graduate students." Yamraiha now placed her unkempt head of blue hair on the coolness of the desk, cheek touching the wood. "He's seemed annoying since day one. I wish they'd tell you that the course isn't taught by an actual professor when you sign up for it." 

The teaching assistant, or as she referred to him as, the glorified graduate student, was incessantly tapping away at his cellphone, seated in a plastic chair beside the podium at the front of the hall. Ja'far didn't mind him, much, but then again, he wasn't exactly focused on the quality of his teaching ability. 

"He looks hungover." Yamraiha pointed out in shuffling through her carefully sorted notebook. "Isn't that what freshmen do? Show up to their classes after getting a taste of college drinking? I shouldn't think the instructor would do so." 

She talked a lot, and Ja'far didn't mind— he hadn't many friends, anyways. "I didn't realize there was a restriction on who could drink. In fact, I figure the older the student, the more likely it is that it's even legal for them to drink." 

"Are you underage?" 

"I'm 19." 

"So you're a sophomore?" 

"Yes." 

"You don't peg me as someone who drinks, do you." Leaning back, Yamraiha clicked her tongue absentmindedly, as if thinking hard about something. Sometimes, she really did seem as though she was drifting away. 

"Do I look like I could handle liquor?" 

"I suppose not. Watered down beer, maybe." 

There was now an interrupting voice, a figure standing tall in the middle of all of the lecture seats. "Hey! I'm probably letting you out early, so you'll have work to do on your own time. I graded essays and whatnot, your scores are in the digital whatever." His smile did not fit the exhausted composure that appeared to encompass him. 

Their class had an overall friendly composition to it. The professor had been in once to lecture on the logistics of their metaphysics unit, but other than that, he was an unseen entity— the focus of this course was a man with an unruly purple ponytail, and a set of unrelenting golden optics. He was the one to blame for Yamraiha's poorly scored essay. 

"Oh, by the way. The assignment, you're welcome to argue your grade with me. Metaphysics isn't exactly something that everyone gets on the first try, and the professor has offered a rewrite, anyways." His name was _Sinbad,_ and Ja'far couldn't bear to tear himself away from intensely observing this man, for some reason, or another. "Does anyone need me to like, talk about it again? You can resubmit by Friday." 

Yamraiha's hand quite literally shot into the air, and she did not wait to be acknowledged before speaking. "How exactly can you, Mister Sinbad, or even our professor, grade us based on what we believe the meaning of life is? Metaphysics is subjective, isn't it? It seems unfair to ask us such questions as, 'Does the world really exist, and how can we know?' for our beginning assignment." 

A laugh was barked out. 

"What's your name?" 

"Yamraiha, sir." 

"Knock it off, I'm only three or four years older than you— no such formality is needed, Miss Yamraiha. I'd be happy to discuss your individual assignment with you, but to answer your question, you're right. I cannot judge what your perception of the world is on a grade-average, but I can assess how narrow-minded you are. I can respond to you with a simple new query: why does it matter if you argue me? What is the point of questioning me?" 

"Because I want to know what I did _wrong._ " 

"There's no right or wrong, here. There's only perception." 

Ja'far simply wished to sign into his college campus website and hit that sweet, sweet drop class button, but he knew he couldn't get out of a general education requirement, without regretting it later. 

"Is that all, Miss Yamraiha?" 

With a short-handed mumble of, "No, you're irritating," in a voice only those directly beside her could decipher, she responded only with a curt nod. 

Every word that was exchanged between the pair made his stomach sink into the impossible depths of nausea, but he couldn't exactly tell what was bothering him so vehemently. 

The class couldn't of ended quicker, but he couldn't shake the feeling brewing inside of him. 

·

He ate lunch with Yamraiha, and her friends, as they had the same hours free, somehow. The student union was packed around this time, but through the hectic atmosphere, he was able to pay for a simple wrap and a soda, returning to the pair. This was the first day he had been invited to do so, and he couldn't help but feel his pulse rising as he approached the hardly clean table. 

"Ja'far! This is Sharrkan, and Sharrkan, this is Ja'far. Pisti should be here in a moment." 

Before seating himself, he found himself somewhat. . . dumbfounded. 

"Is something wrong?" 

"I think he thought you were cooler than you are, Yamraiha." Sharrkan had spoken up, the grin on his face making Ja'far's head hurt, slightly. "Little does your buddy know, you're just a fucking nerd." 

"Hey! At least I'm a passing student, unlike yourself!" 

"Hi!" A head of perfectly yellowed blonde hair had placed itself in-between the two that continued to bicker, setting a tray down in front of herself. "You're Yam's new friend! I'm Pisti, an environmental science major!" 

Ja'far had finally relinquished himself to the table, sitting across from the three of them, despite being heavily uncomfortable with the scenario. "Ah— hello," he managed to force out of his mouth, hoping she could hear his words through the noise of the dining hall. "I'm Ja'far, a statistics major." She had begun to open her boxed salad, sticking her fork into the plethora of. . . what seemed to only be lettuce. 

Which was fine, he didn't judge, much. 

"You're in Yam's philosophy class, right? Taught by Sinbad?" 

He nodded. 

"Hey! Wait! Ja'far! I'm Sharrkan, I'm in poli-sci!" The man to the left of Pisti interrupted, realizing he hadn't properly informed their new companion of who he was. "Makes sense that Yam would be buddies with a stats kid, she's always trying to befriend those smarter than her." 

"I am quite literally a chemistry major, I have absolutely _no_ clue what you're talking about." 

Unsure of how exactly to communicate with the individuals he had gotten himself into this situation with, Ja'far opted to silently chew his food, attempting to keep track of the conversational topics at hand, to the best of his ability. "So!" Sharrkan said, interrupting the current flow of discussion, raising his eyebrows at Ja'far, questionably. "You in Sin's class to try to date him, too?" 

"W-What?" 

Just his luck. 

Twenty minutes in and he was accused of being gay. 

"Sharrkan, you can't just! That's so rude! Ja'far, you can punch him, if you want!" Pisti chimed in, directing her glare towards the object of irritation. "Not everyone wants to fuck Sinbad, like you do!" 

A feigned gasp was made, Sharrkan appearing falsely hurt at the newly made accusation. "I would never! I'm in one of Dragul's classes, I could never betray him!" 

". . . What are you talking about?" Ja'far looked entirely lost, anxious on if he should get up and dart out of the student union altogether— this had been enough excitement for what felt like, at least, a lifetime. 

Yamraiha couldn't keep her laughing to herself. "Sinbad and Dragul are two graduate students notorious for annoying one another, is all. You look so timid, I promise they're annoying, but they won't bite you." 

From the corner of his sight, he could see a violet-clad man fumbling with a leather wallet at the checkout of the dining section, a green haired figure following him with amusement. They were conversing, as though nothing was wrong.

And he felt sick.

He felt sick, he felt sick, he felt sick, because _everything_ was wrong. 

"I'm sorry, I— I have a class starting in fifteen minutes. I'll see you on Wednesday, it was nice meeting you, Pisti, Sharrkan." He didn't let them get another word in before mindlessly grabbing his belongings, and rushing off to the nearest possible exit, blessed to feel the fresh air in the depths of his lungs. As the sun heated the fabric of his clothing, he shielded his eyes from the sun with the sleeve of his shirt, in a feeble attempt to find where his dormitory was located from here. 

·

The week drudged on, and he found himself back in that stupid lecture hall on Friday morning, with the same uncomfortable tightness in his chest. Yamraiha was staring at him. 

"Hey, got a proposition for you," she began, trying to pull Ja'far out of his seemingly trance like state before Sinbad began to endlessly talk. "You should come drinking with us." 

This was enough to do exactly what she intended. His eyes widened, and he looked at her in a state of disbelief. "W-What, like a party? I haven't been feeling well this week, I don't think putting me in an overheated frat would be good for my health, really. Maybe next time," he replied curtly, attempting to end this conversation before she got any bright ideas— he didn't enjoy drinking, and he certainly didn't enjoy drinking in public settings with horny freshmen. 

But she found a way around it. "Oh, gods, no! We don't go to frats, we just go to bars. Put some glue on your hand to get rid of the 'X' they mark you with at the entry. Come on, Ja'far, you always look like you don't speak to anyone but me! I know you're not busy." Her pretty acrylic nails tapped against her phone, opening her Snapchat, and pushing it to him expectantly. 

"I. . . I don't—" 

"You _don't_ have a Snapchat?" 

"My foster mother was protective of me!" 

"You're nineteen! Open your phone!" 

This was all too much for nine in the morning, but she wasn't letting up her pursuit of making Ja'far have a social life. He was added to a group chat entitled 'yam's hoes,' which he was informed that that was set up by Pisti, not her. The names at the bottom of the chat read as follows: Yam, Pisti, Sharrkan, and a fourth he didn't know, Spartos. 

"Spartos is quiet. You'll get along with him, I promise." Despite this, he did not much believe her. 

Sinbad spoke of Nietzsche, today, and was oddly passionate about the idea that God was dead, and man had been the one to kill him. 

He hadn't cared much to take notes, knowing he'd review the material on his own time, so his pen was now slowly doodling across his page, without paying much thought to it. 

Yam was, though. "Ja'far!" She whispered in the middle of a long monologue their lecturer had gone off about to explain why nihilism was an attractive ideology to many. "Oh my god, you _can't_ be serious. This is _bad._ " 

Taken out of his trance, he glanced to her, and then down to his paper, where the name 'Sinbad' had been written, several times, in varying scripts. 

"I was going to try to take you out to get you to try to be flirty with someone, or something, but I can't accomplish that if you're into _him_!" 

"Hey, wait! I'm not—" 

They were cut off by a glare pointed in their direction, and the clearing of a throat. "You know, I literally do not care if you text each other, just try not to talk when I am." 

Ja'far left the lecture hall once they had been dismissed, with his face seemingly stained the color vermillion, and a new app on his phone, that was violently being blown up. 

·

**Yam is typing. . .**

_Yam:_ i made ja'far get a snap and invited him out with us tonight and he has the absolute audacity to have a crush on sinbad of all people! :<

**Yam is typing . . .**

**Sharrkboy is typing . . .**

**Pisti is typing . . .**

_Pisti:_ NOOOOO!!!!!! jafar!!!! he's bad news!!!!!! D: we gotta save him!!! 

_Sharrkboy:_ Pink whitney always is the cure to this issue 

_Yam:_ hey ja'far we can see you reading this what do you like to drink also look cute tonight :> we'll come by your dorm, you can't get out of this one 

**Spartos is typing . . .**

_Spartos:_ I won't let them ruin you, Ja'far. It'll be fun. You have my word. 

**Ja'far is typing . . .**

_Ja'far:_ yeah, just let me know when to be ready by 

·

He didn't know how he ended up here, but it certainly wasn't something he actively wished to be doing. It was too late to turn back now, which he knew, as he sat at the bar of some seedy club that was only slightly off campus. It was apparently the most popular one for students to get into. 

While it was embarassing to admit, he kind of wished he had stayed cozy in his dorm room to study, completing his routine of calling his foster mother before going to bed, and then waking up with no horrific headache. Yamraiha didn't take no for an answer, however, and she had a bottle of glue in her purse that she coated the back of their palms with before they made it to the entrance. 

So the 'X' marking him as underage was no longer a restriction, as he had been instructed to duck into the bathroom and peel it off. Sharrkan had to help him, and ordered him his first official drink— he didn't know anything about alcohol. 

But they had all ended up wanting to dance, which Ja'far deemed as dangerous. This was his second drink, and to say he was a lightweight would be an insult to other lightweights. His freckled cheeks were dusted with a rosy blush, and he was currently laying his head on the bar, because the world was spinning. 

He didn't like this feeling. 

Hearing the stool next to him being pulled out, Ja'far pulled his face up to look at who was now seated next to him— it was a man, with features his hazy vision couldn't quite make out. He didn't look that much older than him, or so he thought. There was no definitive telling, right now.

"What's a pretty thing like you sitting all by your lonesome on a Friday night?"

He had never been flirted with, and he certainly had not been flirted with by a man. "I—" he hiccuped, the flustered look on his face growing worse. Maybe this is what he needed. 

Ja'far liked being called pretty. 

"What're you drinking?" 

"I don't know," he murmured, eyeing his empty glass with uncertainty. "I don't know much about, um, alcohol, so I don't. . ." 

"Let me order you something, and if you like it, you'll let me stay and keep you company while you're here tonight." 

Ja'far couldn't do anything but nod. 

He felt kind of sick, and couldn't bother to pay attention to what was brought over to him. It was a girly looking drink, but it smelled strongly of. . . hand sanitizer. Sharrkan had told him that's just what vodka smelled like, though. 

"Should be sweet, for you." 

With the glass in his hands, as soon as it was touching his lips, it was gone, and a firm hand was now on his left shoulder. He was scared, and suddenly very much was regretting agreeing to come out, because someone had their hands on him, and— 

"There you are, sweetheart. Sorry I'm late. _I've been looking everywhere for you._ " 

His conversation partner had vacated the chair, he had noticed, and was nowhere to be seen. Ja'far felt bad, having let the man buy him a drink, and then being scared off by whoever had taken the liberty to interrupt. Turning his head, he was met with a brilliant set of golden eyes, that looked as though they should have belonged to royalty. 

And they fucking made him _mad,_ but it didn't seem to matter, because Sinbad's expression implied that he was not willing to play any sort of games.

"Where are your friends." 

"Dancing." 

"You were almost drugged." 

"Don't you have better things to do—" he hiccuped. "Than save drunk undergrad students at stupid campus clubs?" 

"No. Come." 

Sinbad had pulled him out of the barstool. "Go find your friends and tell them I am taking you home." 

"And what if I don't want to?" 

"You won't win this argument, trust me. Go." 

And so he obliged, walking off in the opposite direction of Sinbad. Somehow, though, he never felt those piercing eyes leave him, even as he scanned the room for a blue head of hair— which, he easily located, and weaved his way through a sea of people to approach. 

"Yam—" 

"Hi! Hi! Hi! Are you here to dance!" 

"No, I. . . Can I talk to you, for a second," he felt wobbly, without Sin holding him upright. 

The four followed him to the side wall, where the music was still present, but not unbearably loud. Pisti and Sharrkan were deep in conversation about the logistics of whether Lana del Rey was something that should be played in club settings. Pisti heavily believed so, while Sharrkan was a hard _no._

"I have to go home, but I didn't want you to worry." 

"Whaaaat!" Pisti broke out of their heated discussion, being the first to protest his revelation. "It's only like ten o'clock! You can't go! You have to see Yam black-out!" 

"Why's that?" Yamraiha was pouting, her cheeks a bright shade of pink, indicating she was just as drunk as he was. "I wanted to hang out with you more! It's fun! We should hang out again!" She was kind of stumbling over her feet, even whilst standing still. 

"I think. . . I think Sinbad is mad at me." 

They all stared at him as though he had gone absolutely mad, but Sharrkan was the first to question this strange statement. 

"Uh, Sinbad? The guy that teaches philosophy? Ja'far—" 

"I know you have a crush on him, but like, Ja'far, he probably doesn't even know your name!" Yam piped up, pointing a manicured fingernail at him. "He barely even grades papers! Why would he know you! Are you doing weird stuff behind my—" 

She fell silent, suddenly, and Ja'far felt Sin's hand on his shoulder, again. 

"Yamraiha, if you're going to bring your underaged friends to clubs, please don't leave them all by themselves." 

"I didn't mean t—" 

There was another man with him, who looked entirely unenthused, but his voice was low, holding the same confidence that was present when Sin spoke. Ja'far didn't know him. 

"Undergraduate students really should be forced to understand clubbing etiquette. I see that you know how to remove sharpie marker," he spoke in reference to them removing the X's drawn on the back of their hands, "Anyways, consider yourselves lucky that Sin noticed your friend's drink being drugged." 

Pisti looked like she was about to burst into tears. 

It really did feel like being scolded by a parent, and it was somewhat humiliating. 

"I'll see you on Monday, Yamraiha. Please be careful, the four of you." 

And for some reason, there seemed to be a universal trust that Sinbad would keep them safe— even if he was just a graduate student that taught Intro to Philosophy. 

Perhaps he just had that effect on people. 


	3. there's a dog in your heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the first part is a dream sequence of chapter 179 of snb. <3 im probably gonna have it so only sinbad is aware of his past life, and he communicates this with drakon. 
> 
> and yes, i think his room would look like a modern day howl from hmc's. he's just like that. 
> 
> let me know what you think! <3

_you're cold on the inside._

·

He felt like he was watching himself. 

Well, he was, in a way— he was outside of his body, observing a scene that felt familiar, yet like it had never occurred before, as well. It was the essence of déjà vu, but in the same breath, it wasn't, all the same. The figure that resembled him was younger by a significant amount, but had the expression of someone who had been through hell and back. A forest green keffiyeh shrouded his face, but he could still tell it was him. Or, meant to be, at least. 

The child looked frozen. 

"Oh. . . Sin," he couldn't hear what was occuring in this building perfectly, but it was clear enough to make out the individual words being said. Ja'far watched as the figure stifled back a tearful choke, staring straight ahead at something that had finally come into view. 

A teenager, with an unruly purple ponytail, and the golden eyes of a King. He stood tall, a young girl accompanying him. It was hard to get a good look at her, as a large witch hat was placed on her head, but he could tell she looked nervous. 

He could tell that this was meant to be Sinbad. 

"I'm home. . ." A reassuring smile was placed on the man's face, and it looked as though it was going to break the boy he was directly speaking to. "Ja'far." 

The scene made him feel like he was going to throw up, for some reason. 

·

* * *

·

As was promised, Ja'far awoke the next morning unharmed, but he wasn't aware of what was going to happen when he sat upright, abruptly— and that, was severe, intense nausea, accompanied by an unbearable headache. It didn't help that he _didn't recognize this room_ , and he didn't remember what had happened last night, to begin with. He was, in fact, fully clothed still, and he smelled absolutely rancid, in dire need of a toothbrush and some ibuprofen. Everything felt sluggish, and horrifically heavy. 

He was beginning to process the room he was situated in. 

The comforter was a deep silken purple, and the mattress felt nothing like the one that strained his back every night in his college dorm. . . it was soft, but not to the point of it being of discomfort. Everything in sight was golden, or patterned with vibrant paisley, with the distinctive scent of cardamom wafting through the spinning ceiling fan. Ornate bookshelves aligned each of the walls, where everything seemed slightly haphazardly placed, yet perfectly organized all at the same time. All of the bindings looked as though they had been thoroughly loved, at one point in time. 

Glancing upwards, he noticed that the bed was canopied of the same jewel tones, several nazar talismans tied to the wired heading. 

He had an inkling of where he was. 

The door was propped open, the glowing light from the hallway appearing to be of an orange-ish hue. He noticed that it was being kept dim via darkening curtains, upheld with golden rods. 

Oh, if only he could recall the events of the night prior, but his head was spinning too much to even fathom his memory being coherent. It set in that his phone was missing, however, which was of great issue, but he was anxious on moving himself out of this dreamlike state. But his head hurt, and he needed water before actually threw up. 

Pushing himself out of the bed, Ja'far was met with a floor that was a disaster, and he became anxious of stepping on something he shouldn't, so this act of exiting this room became an endeavor he wasn't quite prepared for. His feet touched was he assumed were dirty clothes, and he attempted to ensure that he was light on his toes, in case something was breakable and strewn throughout. 

Luckily, this bedroom wasn't excessively large, so he reached the door in record time, for hardly being able to stand upright. He felt _sick,_ and he wasn't quite sure what to expect upon entering the hallway, but he felt. . . safe. 

"Ja'far," he jumped at the voice from down the hall, not expecting someone to of heard him, but he proceeded to the main area of what he assumed to be an apartment. There was a man seated at a dining table with a stone top, and he certainly wasn't Sinbad. Rather, he had long green hair and a set of unfriendly amber eyes, a red earring dangling from his dark earlobe. The voice had come from him. Ja'far stood still, feeling horribly embarassed. "Yes, you. Sin is in class right now, but he'll be back, eventually. Come here." 

Being beckoned forward, he obliged, and a hand was stuck out, and Ja'far hesitantly shook it. "Dragul. I'm a T.A. aswell. I'm assuming you need water," getting out of his chair, the kitchen was tucked behind another wall, but still in the open area of the living room. "You're fine, by the way. We just took you here because you adamantly refused to reveal what dorm you're in. Something about not trusting us," a bottle of water was produced from the fridge, and Ja'far opened it, trying not to seem too desperate. Dragul shuffled around the cabinet beside the stove, and promptly setting two white pills onto the countertop. "Ibuprofen." 

He was really, really anxious. "Thank you," Ja'far managed to mumble out, taking the medicine appreciatively, realizing that most people would not accept mystery pills from a man they had just met, but he didn't care much, at the moment. His goal was getting rid of whatever was happening in his body. "I. . . I apologize, if I was a nuisance, last night, I should probably get out of your hair. Do you know where my phone is?" 

"Ah, I do, but Sin will have my head if I let you leave before he returns." 

"I would hate to be a bother, still, to you two, he's done more than enough, for me." 

"You're welcome to stay in the room you were in, but again, I can assure you, you're doing me a favor by not leaving." 

Sinbad must have been quite the character, if he was so certain in how he would react to Ja'far leaving prematurely. But he also didn't quite know where he was, nor did he have a car, so, he hadn't much choice in the matter. Dragul seemed pleasant enough, at least. 

"What exactly happened?" His conversational partner was now seated again, and he took to sitting in the chair across the table, to make it less awkward.

Dragul was tapping away at his laptop, which illuminated his hardened features, and briefly glanced up, providing a reassuring smile. "Nothing we couldn't handle, but if you must know— we were there because yes, people of drinking age do enjoy drinking, and socializing, just as much as undergraduate students do. Rule of thumb, you don't accept drinks from those you don't know, especially when you're already too far gone to monitor the bartender making it for you."

He had returned to his typing, but remembered to tack on an important tidbit of information. "He slept on the couch out here, by the way." 

"Why would he specifically care to look at me and what I was doing?" 

"Aren't you in the class he grades for? There's your answer." 

Straight and to the point, he supposed. 

There was a warmth against Ja'far's foot, and he quickly looked down to see a ball of perfectly white fur, rubbing up against his leg. Reluctantly, he reached his hand down to stroke what was an indefinitely purring animal. 

"That's Vittel. He doesn't bite." 

They sat in silence, for a while. Dragul had been quietly observing his guest, who now had Vittel in his lap. When Ja'far noticed, his expression turned sheepish. 

"You look nervous." 

"I mean, I'm being held captive in one of my lecturer's apartments, that I have never once spoken to personally." 

"I suppose." A door down the hall creaked open, and in juxtaposition to the current furry mammal on his lap, a large black cat peeked it's head out from the orange light. "That one is Mahad. He's shyer." 

He could hear a key being turned, and there was a shadow on the wall, now. Dragul's laptop clicked shut, if on cue. "I'm skipping my evening lecture. Whoever invented Saturday classes is a menace, you know, Drakon." 

"You're the one that signed up for them." 

"Yeah, but I didn't expect them to be such—" Sin paused in the middle of his thought upon seeing Ja'far seated in his living room, with Vittel laying in the base of his lap, and Mahad sitting near his bare feet. "Ah, so you're awake." 

"They like him." 

"I figured they would." 

Vittel was purring away. 

He didn't much want to look directly at Sinbad, at the moment, feeling a hot rush of embarrassment over the entirety of his body once the logistics of this situation had set in. He was moving to take off his jacket, and placed himself on the couch alongside the wall. "I'll take you home after we chat, a bit." 

Dragul had gotten up, now, and was packing away his laptop in a nearby backpack. "Strange for you to be the one lecturing him, for once, isn't it, Sin." Ja'far didn't understand what that meant. "Anyways, if he starts acting weird, Ja'far, just act like you found a white hair on his head. He's harmless. I have class, but I'm sure we'll cross paths again." 

He couldn't look up, his freckled face a red mess of absolute anxiety. Dragul left the apartment quietly, and Sin had taken to sitting in the seat that was vacated from his roommate. His phone was set on the table, pushed over to him, the battery likely dead. 

"I hope you slept well, but I do need to talk to you." His expression was had taken on a significantly more serious tone, and Ja'far finally dared to directly observe his captor. Sure enough, those golden eyes were seemingly endless, but today, they held an irritation that was unlike what he had seen in class. "I know you definitely think I'm creepy, and honestly, I don't blame you. But, hey, you're in my apartment now, so." 

Frankly, he should've been, but there was something about this man that. . . felt safe. 

"I don't." 

"Ah— that's a good thing! I put my phone number into your contacts, as well as Drakon's. If you're ever alone at a bar again, call one of us. Understood?" 

A pink, wet nose was working it's way back into Ja'far's hand, demanding more attention than he was currently receiving. He didn't have much room to argue, right now, so he nodded, and allowed the cat to nuzzle against him. "Look at me." 

"You're safe with me around." 

This was kind of weird, admittedly, but reassuring, to a point. Without their intervention, Ja'far could have been in much worse shape, than just hungover and extremely tired, after all. It was somewhat haunting, to consider the possibilities of what could have been. With the conviction that Sin spoke with, however, he was near certain he could convince anyone of just about anything. 

He noticed that Sin looked a bit different than he did during class— the low ponytail with replaced with a higher, messier one, and a scarf was tied around it. When he looked relatively relaxed, he was. . . pretty, in a way. 

"Did you want to sleep here before I take you back? I lived in those dorms, and I _know_ the beds are made out of bricks." 

"I don't want to be a both—" 

"I just have some essays to grade, 'cause the prof won't touch 'em. It's not a problem, I assure you." 

"If it really isn't, then I guess I will take the offer." 

Sinbad looked delighted, at the very least, which was enough for him. The annoyed aura had drained from the room, and it was replaced with a sort of stillness. "Let me remake the bed, then." 

Standing from the table, he padded down the hallway, and it sounded like he was attempting to also tidy up. "Come!" He called, and Ja'far awkwardly picked Vittel up, placing him on the table— which, he probably shouldn't of done, not knowing their policy on their pets being on their furniture. Walking towards the bedroom, he could hear the footsteps of the animals behind him. 

"Sorry for the mess, I don't usually have anyone in here." 

"It's. . . you look like you collect things." 

Now that he was more awake, he was able to get a better look at the many possessions that were held in this small space. A dresser with many pieces of fancy-looking jewelry, the aforementioned bookcases, a desk tucked into the corner with papers haphazardly stuck between textbooks. It looked so utterly lived in. 

It was admirable, he thought to himself. 

"Ah, yeah. I'm kind of a hoarder. I just like. . . stuff? Yeah, that's a good way to say it." 

"Where are you from?" Ja'far blurted, as Sin smoothed out the blankets, regretting it near-instanteously. It was a somewhat rude question, to some people, but he couldn't help but ask. 

Luckily, Sin merely smiled in response. "My mother was Indian, my father was Iranian. I've visited, a few times, actually! Gorgeous countries, really." He paused for a moment, turning to face his oblivious house-guest. "You're welcome to rest as long as you'd like, just let me know when I'm returning you." 

Maybe eventually, he could ask more about those things, but he didn't want to pry into the man's personal life. 

Sin exited the room with a click of the door— but not without both of the cats being nestled into the bed with Ja'far, one of them on either side of him. They felt familiar, in the same way that Sinbad did. Even in the way that Dragul did, with his uptight personality that seemed to be no-nonsense. He wondered if he was always like that.

It wasn't long before he was taken by the bliss of rest, his exhausted eyes finally slipping away from this world, and into the silk covers that he thought maybe, he could grow accustom to. 

·

* * *

·

"You look tired, Sin." Dragul spoke as he entered, and Sinbad couldn't contain his grimace at how well his roommate knew him. To know he was exhausted before even making eye contact with him. He was perched at the dining table, scribbling notes onto undergraduate essays in vibrant red ink. 

He waved his hand, as if to falsely dismiss him. "No, you. Shut up! I'm not." This elicited a snort from the other man, who set his backpack down on the couch before rooting through it to retrieve his computer. "He's still here, by the way. I told him to go back to bed. Vittel and Mahad haven't left his side, it's kinda funny." 

"I mean, as you said, it makes sense. Even though they're cats." 

"Did you eat? We should order, I'm lazy. Do you think _he_ wants to eat?" Sin stretched his arms upwards, pen still in hand, and a yawn bloomed over what felt like his entire body. "It's what, four?" 

"I don't care, pick a place. Someone's going to start thinking you kidnapped a nineteen year old, though. Not a good look." 

He pondered this, falsely, for a moment, stroking his chin to make it look convincing. "You know already that in this case, it doesn't bother me. He's mine in this life too, y'know." 

"As if he was yours in the last." 

"Oh, you know what I mean. Pizza? I dunno. What did we eat hungover in the dorms." 

"From the dining hall, moron. He might wake up and want to leave, anyways. I wouldn't want to sit in some crazy guy's apartment. Have you seen your bedroom?" 

Sinbad gasped dramatically, but deep down, he knew that was one of his genuine fears— to finally of found Ja'far, once again, but to be rejected horribly by just being. . . weird. Perhaps it was better than him hating Sin for what had happened so long ago, but it still wasn't the optimal situation. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he was trying to figure out what to feed both his guest and Dragul. 

Once upon a time, Ja'far would eat whatever he was given, out of fear of not being given anything at all— especially as a child, always silently grateful to be handed quite literally _anything._ He preferred fruits, he remembered. 

It hurt, sometimes, to think of the life they could've had, originally. 

"I'll go bug him, I guess."

"Sinbad." 

"Mmm?" 

"You can't get attached to him." 

"I know that, Drakon." 

They made eye contact, when Sin stood, Dragul's usual demeanor wasn't as usual— he had the eyes of a Parthevian soldier, for a flashing moment, chilling him to the core. "No, Sin. You don't, and I cannot pick up the pieces for you if this doesn't go your way." Amber met gold, and for once, Sin allowed him to win. 

"I understand." 

·


	4. it tells you to tear everything apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> men can cuddle with.their friends even if their friends were giant lizardmen for a very long time in their past lives cus even high kings of the seven seas need some bromance care sometimes 
> 
> im not going to tag this as drakon x sin relationship wise because they don't have feelings for each other. it's just easier to let sin let off steam this way, so they have sex, sometimes 
> 
> so MY WARNING TO YOU is there is references to sexual content in this chapter but it isn't explicit past making out/some dialogue, all clothes stay on in the actual written text. i considered writing smut but i figure we are here for sinja-- there will likely be a separate work for the smut part, i'm thinking, so it's entirely optional. <3

_my body's covered in teeth marks._

_·_

Sinbad had listened to Dragul, for once in his life, and took Ja'far home. He had a point, and he knew it to be true. No matter how much he craved a connection with this boy, it wasn't something he could force— this was, in fact, his Ja'far, but it wasn't _his_ , as he once was. There were no records of having long nights, where his advisor's fingers would massage into his scalp, and they would stare endlessly at one another. . . and there was no guarantee that there ever could be. 

He didn't want to admit how his heart sunk as Ja'far exited his car with a brief wave, and he didn't want to acknowledge the dread settling itself into the bottom of his stomach as he parked himself back at his apartment complex. Oh, how he craved to have gotten the chance to speak with him more, but it was at the price of Dragul's eyes boring into his skin. 

"You're being smart, you know." Dragul, seated at the small, round table, spoke, as soon as the door opened. It was true, he trusted the man's judgement, for the most part. "Did anything happen while you drove?" 

Sin shook his head, dropping onto the couch that Mahad was currently fast asleep on, pushing his fingers through the fluffy black fur. "No. He didn't say anything, nor did I." The cat stretched it's large body out, giving an affectionate 'meow' in return for the pets. "I feel like I just left him, again. I feel like I abandoned him." This was what drove them apart, so long ago. 

"You're dramatic, you know that?" 

"You only tell me _every_ day." 

He was happy to have this dynamic with Drakon. In fact, he wouldn't of wanted anyone else to remain by his side in this sense, other than maybe Hinahoho. 

He hadn't located him, yet. There were many that he hadn't, and it was hard to accept the reality that there were many he likely never would find again. 

Dragul shut his laptop, and placed his chin atop his folded hands, observing Sinbad, quietly. "Do you think anyone else is aware, like you are?" A good question, really. 

"Ah, yeah. I'm sure Aladdin is, but he would likely be the only one to have his memories in tact. I suppose Titus, Judar, and Yunan, may, as well, but I wouldn't know." He would think that if they were special enough to be the Magi of their world, they would likely be able to recall their past, but nothing was set in stone. 

It was lonely, having been the one to massively screw up, and for nobody to remember it enough to reassure him.

Sometimes, he fell into his delusion, however. 

"I see." 

Sin didn't like when Dragul looked at him like this, because he knew that unlike in the original world, he wasn't as good at masking his true self here. In doses, sure, but he always fell prisoner to the human condition. He wasn't God's vessel, here. It allowed him to _feel._

"I'm surprised you took my advice, and didn't try to just keep him in your room like a pet." 

With a roll of his eyes, Sin shook his head in earnest. "Back then, I never listened to anyone's voice of reason, and that's what caused me to have so many regrets, I believe. I trust your judgement. If I need to take this slower, then so be it." 

This produced a smile from Dragul, at least. "I care for you, Sin. I don't wish to see you get hurt."

"I know, Drakon." 

"You look as if you wish to ask me a question." 

"Do you miss her? Or do you not remember her enough to do so?" 

He was speaking of Saher, of course, the woman that he recalled that never left Dragul's side as an adult. It was a noticeable fact that his friend has never shown interest in anyone, in this world, so he couldn't help but wonder if that fact reigned true. 

Dragul pondered this, for longer than Sin expected him to, but he nodded. "From what you told me, I would like to think so. I haven't much had an interest in anyone else, I believe." 

It was comforting to hear that even if Drakon wasn't fully in acknowledgement of their past, he did believe Sin, and he did have a yearning for something that was possibly long-lost. 

"However." He knew he was about to be gently lectured. "If I do show interest in someone that isn't her, I'm not going to suppress it. I advise you do the same, considering Ja'far and your relationship in the past wasn't nearly the same as man and wife, yes?" 

He wanted to argue, to explain to Dragul that Ja'far promised he would wait forever for him. Since this entire situation had began, since he realized he was no longer Sinbad, High King of the Seven Seas, he had waited every waking moment to find the boy he once wished he could love. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't crave being scolded by his advisor. 

Sin would have taken Ja'far yelling at him over the Sindrian conflict. He would have taken Ja'far's teary-eyed anger in one of the last days before they returned to the Rukh when he reminded Sinbad that Rurumu was _dead_ and that it was _his_ fault. Anything would've been better than being solely and utterly forgotten. 

Looking visibly crestfallen, Dragul sighed, lightly. "Let's order something, and I think we need to have a long talk." Pushing himself up from his chair at the table, he strode to the couch, sitting himself next to Sin. As if on cue, Sin leaned his head onto Dragul's shoulder, phone in hand. The warmth of the man was making it easier to hold his composure. 

They settled on Chinese takeout, costing a fortune from DoorDash, but neither one of them quite felt like they wanted to drive— nor did Dragul really trust to send Sin on his own, anyways. They sat, with Sin's head on his shoulder for a while. 

"I highly doubt that he hates you." 

"He might, though."

"I thought I hated you, too, but here we are, Sin. You're hard to hate." 

"I'm just tired, Dragul."

"I know, Sinbad." 

They never much addressed each other by full name. 

Vittel had come bounding down the hall, taking the place next to the other cat on the cushion, looking curiously at his owners— which received him pets from Dragul, and he purred in return.

The doorbell rang, and Sin retrieved their food. He was kind of amazed at all of this new technology, really— to be a commoner, that just had food show up at their apartment complex after clicking a little button? 

Sin and Dragul's phone buzzed, nearly at the same time, a text showing up on the individual screens. 

**Message from: Unknown Number**

_hi, sinbad, i just wanted to send a message to really just say thank you, for everything, last night and today. i'm sorry that i turned out to be such a handful for you, but thank you for keeping me safe and such. that's all, i hope you have a nice evening_

**Message from: Unknown Number**

_um, hi, dragul, i just sent sinbad a text so i'm sure you'll be hearing this anyways but, thank you for letting me stay with you both and everything, i really didn't deserve your hospitality but i appreciate it all the same. i hope you have a nice evening, and again, thank you_

They ate their dinner silently, but Sin's honey eyes held a new sort of spark to them, having been pulled out of his anxious funk. They had a bottle of red wine placed on the table, cheap glasses filled to the brim with the sweet liquid. Dragul preferred bitter, but he never won the argument. 

"He's more polite than you've described him." Dragul pointed out as he took both of their plates to the kitchen sink, dousing them each in water and soap. "When telling me to be on the look out for a white-haired boy that looked like he would cut me open, I didn't think you meant this." 

"Yeah, I thought he'd be more like he was when he was a child. He was a trained assassin, who really only calmed down after I spoke to him." 

Dragul scoffed at this, rolling his eyes as he continued cleaning up the aftermath of their meal, putting things in their horrifically disorganized fridge. "You always talk like you moved mountains, back then." In a swift motion, he picked up the wine bottle and refilled their cups, both on their third glass— he'd have to grab another bottle, should Sin want more. 

"You looked at me like you thought I did too, you know." 

Having moved again, from the table to the couch, Dragul sat with him once he had completed his task. "Maybe so," he replied, knowing that it was likely a true fact. "Now you're just sort of a pain, huh."

Leaning on him again, Sin let out a gentle laugh before closing his eyes. "When you were younger— a soldier, mind you, you thought that of me too. I was always in your way. I remember when you would yell at me for not calling you by your full name." 

Dragul leaned his head slightly on top of Sin's this time. They didn't fit together perfectly, but it was enough to find solace in one another. "I pointed out that you never wed, didn't I?" 

"Mmm. You and Hinahoho, always criticizing me for not taking on a wife— there were many reasons, I guess, but he was the main one. If I couldn't love him like I wished to, then I couldn't love anyone else." He paused, as if thinking about what would have happened if he had decided to settle himself doen. "I would've rather died without an heir than heard him crying in his room at night, more often than he did already." 

"I'm just worried, because I know you're the jealous type, Sin, and it isn't guaranteed that he'll want. . . you, in this life."

It was true, he could give him that. That's why he immediately demanded they intervene when he saw Ja'far speaking with someone at the bar, it just so happened to be that the person had poor intentions to begin with. It would surely shatter his heart if he befriended Ja'far and had to watch him date someone else. 

Sin didn't reply, but rather adjusted his position to turn his face towards Dragul's neck, his warm breath dusting across the exposed flesh, and he could feel his friend's body stiffen. They did this, often, for a specific reason: it kept Sin out of trouble, and Dragul would rather be used in that manner, than be saving his ass constantly. 

His wine stained lips were dangerously close to Dragul, and Sin was quite clearly looking to push this forwards. 

"Are you sure?" The former-soldier murmured, before giving into Sin's desires. "I don't want to make you more upset, and surely, you're tipsy, by now." 

Sinbad moved off of him for a moment, snagging both of their wine glasses off the table and pressing Dragul's into his hand. In a few gulps, Sin's was entirely gone, and he was hunting for his phone, which happened to be placed on ground next to the couch— neither of them had replied to Ja'far, but he didn't care much, in this moment. He had steam to let off, and tipsy-texting his crush didn't seem like a good idea, so he shut the device off, and tossed it back to it's original position. 

Drakon's wine was now gone, too, the glass placed on the carpet— probably of poor taste, to put it there, likely in the way of a cat that would want to knock it over. His hands brushed over Vittel's fur, and then to Mahad's, gently indicating to them both that they should vacate the area, which they only chose to hop off the couch once Sin was pushing Dragul down, to lay on the cushions, straddling him. 

Their lips crashed together, and it was, as usual, a fierce debate of who would get to control this scenario. "Mmm," Dragul whispered between kisses. "You're gonna make your little toy upset, you know." Sin replied by biting down on his lower lip, placing his fingers on the man's throat to hold him in place. 

"You're my toy, not him." He wistfully reminded him, smirking into each violent kiss they shared. 

Dragul was obviously holding back his usual noises, trying to combat his friend. "What? Gonna moan his name while you're fucking me?" The way that Drakon only swore during heated moments was incredibly hot, Sin would admit— he would have never guessed that he was a dirty talker, once upon a time. "Did you fuck him before, back then? Did he moan your name loud enough for the palace to hear?"

Sin growled lowly, choosing to end their lip-lock and move onto his exposed neck, biting down _hard._ They weren't each other's, but they enjoyed marking one another just as much. "Haaah, Sin— careful, you wouldn't want to make him suspect something, would you?" Dragul was gently groaning into each nibble of his skin, unable to help himself, as Sin's hips were pressing down against his. "Wouldn't want to make him just as jealous as you get, now would you?" 

Gods, Drakon drove him up a wall, sometimes. 

"Come kiss me," Sin spoke through heavy eyelids and was implying they should switch positions, detaching himself from his job as a leech. "Come." He got off of Dragul, and was now the one being straddled by the pretty rich boy, with the slender hips, and the absolutely filthy mouth. Goddamn, he was wine-drunk, which was usually when this occured— the warmth from the alcohol made him unbearably horny, and hyper-aware of his surroundings. "Please, just kiss me." 

And his demands were met, with it being Dragul's turn to drunkenly connect their mouths. Sin's hands were on his hips, pulling his body unbearably closer to his own, growing messier with every soft moan his friend elicited. "How do you always sound like such a noble when you're sober, but as soon as you're in my lap, you're reduced to a common-whore?" It was also now Sin's turn to turn Dragul on, which was never all too hard to do. "Mmm, Dragul—" The alcohol was prominent on both of their breaths, which was the reason why he wasn't going to stop the man when his lips were on his neck. 

Sin moaned, at each graze of Dragul's teeth, and his fingers had snaked their way under his shirt to dig his fingernails into the skin on his hips. "Haaah, fuck. . ." The one thing that did always desperately turn him on was to have Dragul's lips against his ear, the inconsistent breathing making his cock throb, which the man was fully aware of. This allowed him to fluctuate between attacking his neck, and the gentle breaths completely overstimulating Sin. 

There were now deep purple hickeys covering Sin's neck from side to side, each one being met with him grinding his clothed cock against Dragul's own. 

He didn't care that them both having love-bites would be an obvious giveaway. 

He didn't care that Ja'far was in his Monday class, whilst Sharrkan was in Dragul's Tuesday class. 

He would, soon, though. 

But right now, he was caught solely in the feeling of Dragul's teeth, the pain from them being horrifically arousing for him. They were kissing again. "Please, fuck, we have to—" 

"Bedroom," Sin murmured. 

With both of the cats locked out, they stumbled their way into Sinbad's bed, not breaking their incessant touching once— and Dragul was pressed into the same mattress that Ja'far had been sleeping in, earlier. 

When Sin came, it was with a low groan of Ja'far's name— for Dragul, he couldn't help but whisper Saher's. 

·

* * *

·

On Wednesday, Ja'far felt like the weekend had lasted four years, or something akin to it— Yamraiha had called him a bajillion times, apologizing repeatedly for what happened. He knew she didn't do it out of malice, so he just reassured her every time she needed it. Sharrkan, Spartos, and Pisti had also given messages of guilt, promising that they'd be smarter in the future if he chose to join them again. 

The professor had cancelled class on Monday, so today was the first day of the week that he was getting to see Sinbad, and he couldn't contain the excitement bubbling in his stomach. His essay had been marked as perfect, he noticed, in the online grading system. 

He somewhat wished he had woken up everyday in Sin's bed again, nose nuzzled into silken purple fabric— he wouldn't of minded much if Sinbad woke up beside him, too, but that was a fantasy that was a bit too far off the mark for this early in the morning. Slipping onto the bench next to her, Yamraiha looked sullen. 

"Ja'far, I think you'd do better if you went home and slept today! I doubt we're doing much, we could go get lunch or something—" 

They had been all texting yesterday in their little group chat, and Sharrkan was babbling on about how his T.A., Dragul, had shown up to class with a scarf on, despite it being almost eighty degrees in the beginning of the fall, meaning he was definitely getting laid. What kind of adults would still give _hickeys,_ though, was the universal question. They had all talked about what happened at the club, and how Ja'far woke up safely in Sin's apartment, a well-known fact that he was crushing hard on the man. It was fun, to have friends, he thought. 

He scanned the front of the room for Sinbad, who was currently flipping through a stack of papers, and not facing in their direction. 

Yamraiha continued her thought. "We could go to lunch, and then go shopping, or something! All you do is schoolwork, I think it'd be nice for you to get out during the week. . ." 

He finally realized why, exactly, his blue-haired friend wouldn't shut up, when Sin looked up from what he was doing. 

An array of dark, cruel looking bruises were hardly covered by the turtleneck he had chosen to wear today, them creeping out of the seams of the fabric, and he had never felt more fucking stupid. To assume that Sinbad might have liked him, and that's why he was in his apartment for so long the other day. To assume that Sinbad would view him in a romantic way, when he was just a stupid college sophomore. 

He hadn't been in an apartment shared by two friends, he had been in one shared by two _lovers._

"Yeah. Let's go." Scrambling to pack up his books once again, he was desperate to be anywhere but here at the moment. Yamraiha followed suit, and they attempted to scamper out of the lecture hall as quietly as possible. "Sorry that you'll miss your attendance." 

They mostly walked in silence, and chose to sit themselves down on a bench a couple buildings down from that one. "I thought they were like, goofy rivals that were just friends." Yam's voice was soft, as though she was comforting an injured bird she found. "But, it's too much of a coincidence, especially when you mentioned that they live together." 

"They're both really nice." Ja'far didn't really want to jump to Sin's defense, as he evidently knew nothing about the man, but he couldn't help in trying to. "I just didn't realize, I guess. Shame on me for thinking I had a chance, to begin with." 

His head was spinning, and he began to articulate his thoughts aloud. 

"I wonder if it was the day I was there. I wonder if it was the same bed I slept in. I wonder if they could still smell me on the sheets." 

He really did just feel like crying, but he wouldn't, not in public. His phone was vibrating. 

**Message from: Sin (ItP T.A.)**

_i won't mark down that you and yamraiha weren't here_

Shoving the device at Yamraiha, he felt his heart sinking even faster than before. "He put his name in my phone like this, I really should have known better." 

"Let's go get Sharrkan, we'll do something fun today. I bet the other two aren't doing much, either." 

"Sure." 

He had never felt so stupidly _heartbroken._

·

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be more drakon / sinbad stuff but again, fully platonic / sexual for drama purposes, because sin doesn't ever learn, does he


	5. your bite's worse than your bark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the shorter chapter :‹ i'll make up for it, i promise 
> 
> content warnings: suicidal ideation, self harm, delusions, technically
> 
> a note that this is likely the only time im gonna have sin talk about this, in terms of hurting himself — he isn't suicidal in the way we think of being suicidal, if that makes sense. i just think he'd be very emotional if he was even allowed to speak to anyone, after everything

_you ruin everything you touch._

·

He really had no business in being upset, so he didn't quite know why he was choking back tears while being perched on Pisti's dorm bed, but he certainly was. Yamraiha and the other girl had him squished in-between him, as they had decided that Sharrkan, in specific, would not be helpful in this moment, considering he had found it appropriate to send a 'spy-photo' of Dragul's scarf to the group-chat. He felt kind of ridiculous, but he was trying to pass it off as something different. Neither of them had said much. 

Pisti was the first to break the droning silence. "You should give me his phone number and I'll call him at yell at him!" It allowed him to crack a feeble smile, but it certainly wasn't something he would be agreeing to. He had never really experienced heart-break, so he wasn't certain of how he should be even processing this information to begin with. 

"It's really not his fault. Being nice to someone doesn't inherently imply you're interested." Ja'far had continuously jumped to the defense of the men in question, with the consistent blaming of himself being what he was brushing it off as. "I should have known, you know. He lives with him, they own two cats together, they know each other's schedules. I'm mostly just embarrassed, instead of upset." Desperately attempting to mask his true feelings, he didn't feel like having a complete meltdown in front of two people he knew, but barely would consider himself 'close' to, but he couldn't help the nausea that was persistent in the core of his stomach.

His phone was buzzing, and he had the horrible feeling that he knew who it was from. 

**Message from: Sin (ItP T.A.)**

_can we talk, or something, i'll buy you coffee_

Both girls looked inquisitively at him, but Ja'far wasted no time in smashing his fingers against the keys of the digital keyboard, not wanting to consult them on what he should say— he intentionally ensured that he used perfect syntax in the message, not wanting to give off any specific emotion in this conversation, that he intended to be brief. 

**Message sent:**

_I don't know what there is to talk about._

**Message from: Sin (ItP T.A.)**

_you quite literally got up as soon as you got into my class and left_

Yamraiha swiped his phone from him, scoffing at the screen with discontent at the discussion being held. "Why is he _obsessed_ with you? It's getting to be kind of weird, Ja'far." He knew she spoke from a genuine place of concern, but he didn't much think this was of off-color behavior, from Sin. 

But why didn't he? He really didn't know anything about the guy. He might have had infrequent dreams about him, but that was merely his day seeping into the night. 

Yam was typing into his phone, now, her acrylic nails clicking against the screen, which made her _really_ sound like she meant business. "The fucking audacity of this guy! I can't believe this."

**Message sent:**

_Don't you have a boyfriend to be doting on? Can you leave me alone?_

"What did you say! What did he say!" Pisti's childish tone was now wanting to be included, trying to press her face in-between them to get a glimpse of the device interface— he really fucking felt like a teenage girl at this moment, complaining about a boy to them, and having them _handle_ it. He heard both of them let out a shriek when there was another delivered text, and it was near-worthy of a headache to hear them do so in unison. 

**Message from: Sin (ItP T.A.)**

_boyfriend?_

"I'm going to give him a piece of my mind!" That was Yam. 

"Yeah, you let him have it!" And that was Pisti. 

Anyone observing would've thought this was their boy problems, not his, but he didn't believe he had much room to argue with either one of them at the moment. In an attempt to regain his composure, Ja'far pressed his fingers against the sunflower yellow fuzzy blanket that was spread over Pisti's bed, as grounding techniques were sure to assist him in his breathing, right? 

Until she read her sent text out-loud to him, and he felt as though his heart had shattered into a million little pieces, once hearing it properly articulated, rather than just a fact he had to deal with. 

**Message sent:**

_What, you thought I just 'wouldn't notice' that you were quite literally covered in hickeys, and parading them around for me to see? I'm not interested, fuck off._

Ja'far instantly snatched his phone back, regretting having let them do that in the first place, but he wasn't much of in a mood to argue with them. "I think I'm gonna go back to my dorm and take a nap, or something." Pushing himself off the mattress, he shoved his cellphone into the depths of his pocket, knowing he didn't really want to see what Sinbad had fathomed to reply with. 

"Hey! You better not go see him, Ja'far—" He waved her off. "Okay, fine. Text me later, okay? I'm worried about you." 

·

* * *

·

To say Sin was livid was, quite frankly, an understatement of the worst kind, but for once, he had nobody to pin it on. There was no manipulating his way out of this one, there was no logistical error that he could calculate and change to his will. There was no guarantees in this world, and that was a fact that was absolutely abhorrent, in his opinion. He wanted to fucking break something, but there was nothing, and nobody around, to do so. He had locked himself in his bedroom, unwilling to look directly at Drakon at the moment, and undesiring to interact with this _putrid_ world. 

He felt utterly powerless to fix anything, which was of great annoyance to him. He was tired of smartphones and college and every other thing that had decided to manifest itself in this utterly boring universe, this time around, and was silently regretting his previous choices— he hadn't really resolved anything, except make his life into what was now known as a 'chick-flick.' 

Simply put, he did not belong here, in this time period, and he did not belong in this petty, ridiculous conflict of feelings and having the capacity to hurt others emotionally. Sinbad was a _king,_ not a fucking graduate student, but it couldn't be helped, anymore. But what _could_ be helped was this ridiculous conflict, and he intended to resolve it swiftly. 

Although, you couldn't really just explain this sort of this over the phone, he supposed. 'Hi, you were actually pretty much my lover in your past life, but I'm a horrible person and am heartless, so I reset the world for my own personal goals. Would you want to date me, now?' If he bust that out over coffee, he was sure to be reported to the assistance hotline, or placed in the hospital for fear of harming himself or others. He really, _really_ hated this place, he decided. The human experience was, indeed, a miserable one. 

It was easier to ruin everything, rather than to try and piece it together again, though. He'd learned that, once, long ago. 

He was _so_ close to having what he wanted. 

Dragul was outside of his bedroom door, and he wasn't much making it out to be a secret. "Are you going to ruminate all day, you absolute fool?" With the tinge of annoyance in his voice, he could feel the irrational irritation of his own rising in his throat. 

It tasted like stomach bile. 

He shouldn't of been angry with his best friend, but he certainly didn't feel like speaking to anyone. 

The clinking of metal indicated that Drakon was, in fact, utilizing the key he kept at the top of the door frame. "You're lucky I bother with you, you know." With the doorway now wide open, Sin felt even more inclined to be an asshole. "Must I lecture you on throwing temper tantrums at our age?"

"Have you considered that my door was locked to _not_ have this conversation with you?" 

"Sin, I don't know how to tell you this, but I really don't care. Are you pointedly ignoring your little toy, or is your phone just off, because he sent me a message to ask about _you._ " 

This caused Sin to perk up, somewhat. He had been hiding under the hem of his blanket from the outside world, in a feeble attempt to ensure he didn't do anything horrifically stupid, as his usual impulsive behavior was. "He thinks we're _dating_ , for some godforsaken reason, so I don't quite know how to fix this." 

"Avoiding me and everyone else certainly isn't the optimal response." 

"You're bad for my health when I'm in a bad mood."

Dragul was leaning against the wooden frame, looking anywhere but directly at his roommate, which was being copied by Sin, who kept his own gaze locked into the floor. 

"Talk to me, Sin." 

He knew that the man was staying out of reach for a specific reason. 

Back then, everything had fallen apart because he was convinced he needed to shoulder every burden on his own, no matter how much he trusted and admired his dutiful Generals. With the wave of his hand, he would dismiss any that even dared to get near, towards the end of it all. 

His distance is what had ruined everything. 

"It's fucking hard," he knew that if he started speaking, it was all going to come pouring out of his loosely stitched seams, but he couldn't risk repeating the past mistakes. "Seeing your face is hard, seeing your _adult_ face isn't something I ever thought would happen. Looking at Yamraiha, or Spartos, or Sharrkan. Knowing that Vittel and Mahad draw near, yet aren't as I remember them is fucking hard, Drakon." Sin could feel his hands beginning to tremble. "Gods, looking at Ja'far is near-impossible." 

"Why?" 

"Because I ruined _every_ little thing we had, and I shouldn't fucking be here! I shouldn't of gotten to be here, with all of you!" 

He was crying. 

" _I_ ruined it, singlehandedly, and every single day, I'm absolutely drowning in the conversation I had with him before I left— I _lied_ to him. I lied to all of you." 

He couldn't stop his thoughts. 

"And now I can't do fucking anything, here. It was all of _you_ who deserved this chance, to live lives that were normal, not _me._ I took what we had away, I shouldn't be allowed to still look at you. I shouldn't of gotten to see what you'd look like post-assimilation." 

Dragul remained still.

"I hate these clothes, I hate these walls, I hate everything about this place, but if I go and off myself, I'll just be put back here. It's not _fair,_ I'm surrounded by the memory of the people I took advantage of. I'm encased in this ideal world but I can _never_ hold him and tell him how sorry I am. I can't atone for what I've done. Not to him, not to you, not to all of the others. No matter what I do, I'm just _hurting_ people." 

He had buried himself back under the bedsheets, not wanting to feel the false-pity from Dragul's amber eyes piercing his skin any longer. 

"I want to kill myself. I want to kill myself and I want to make everything _right_ , but it doesn't matter what I do, my consciousness won't leave this place. There's no point in me trying— this is just my constant punishment, as ridiculous as this all comes off as." 

That's what it genuinely seemed to of turned out to be, in his eyes. He didn't deserve to be here, and that's why he was— the worst punishment to give to someone isn't to take away their lives, but rather to force them to live in the constant agony of their choices. 

He had never felt more alone than when he listened to Dragul throughout the remainder of the night, shuffling around to locate all sharps and pills, concealing them in his own bedroom.

It just made it more evident that Drakon didn't fully understand. He was, at the end of the day, just a mere human, with no concrete recollection of what once was. 

·

* * *

·

Ja'far dreamt, that evening, of mystical metal weapons that contained magnificent magical beings. He dreamt of endless dunes of sand, of the fresh scent of seawater, he dreamt of grandiose palaces and kings that sat in their glittering throne rooms. 

He dreamt of _Sin._

Of a man who's smile would one day, conquer the world at large. The boy who was destined to chase the sun, also subsequently becoming the boy who flew too close to it. 

He brushed this off in the morning as a mere coincidence. 

·


	6. & destroy everyone you love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> need to edit this later, but. for now 
> 
> i don't really like this chapter so i might just fully rewrite it when i get a moment, ill put it in notes if i do that

_you're all over me._

·

He was rushing into the office of an ambitious man who he genuinely believed to have been driven by absolute insanity, in this dream. The city of Parthevia was illuminated by the crescent moon, hung on a string, outside every single window of this wretched building.

This time, he was not watching himself. 

"Chairman!" The title was torn from his throat, his body near trembling— he felt ill upon seeing his King dressing himself this late. 

Golden eyes met his own, and a smile that didn't quite meet his expression was thrown at him. "Yes? What is it, Ja'far?" He had a wild look to him, and even in this state, he could tell that this was none other than Sinbad. 

"I've come to advise you." It was a feeble attempt to keep his tone low, unable to hide the absolute passion present in him. "You _must_ stop Kou from leaving the Alliance!" 

What was Kou? 

"Please, Sin, humble yourself before the Empress! If Leam allies itself with Kou, _all that we have built will crumble!_ " He was panting. 

This was his body. 

"We _must_ hold onto the International Alliance— the Seven Seas Coalition! This is the world unity you've _longed_ for!" 

They started at one another, the surroundings taking on a hazy appearance. He couldn't observe where he was, even if he desired to. 

The statement that followed came to make him feel even sicker, somehow. "Impossible." Sin's voice was rougher than he was used to, by now. 

Ja'far could feel himself twitching. 

" _Why?_ There's still time, Sin, before Kou establishes trade with other nations. This isn't even close to being impossible!" 

"That's not the issue, you see— the world as a whole is pursuing a fate that wasn't one I foresaw. Should I sit idle, the International Alliance may disappear, in centuries, or millennia, to come, and I can't let new wars sprout because of that." 

Since when was he so hopelessly involved with the political affairs of the world, anyways? 

"Centuries? _Millennia?_ " This felt scripted, as he may be able to feel his body, but he had no control over what he was shouting. 

He was given a confident nod. "We vowed, Ja'far, to build this in order to bring peace to the world, but it isn't ensured by our methodology— we need to see that it lasts far into the future, much past you, or I." 

"Far into the _future?_ " 

"It's risky, but I've never backed down due to a risk, have I? I could die, but it's worth it, in the end, to recreate the world from the foundational level. That's where you come into play— the rest, is then, left to you." 

He wanted to fucking break something and he had absolutely no idea why. The arrogance present in Sinbad's voice was driving him directly up the wall, which didn't go unnoticed, by the man standing in front of him. "Ja'far?" With a voice riddled with surprise, Ja'far wasn't willing to play this game. 

"What on _earth_ are you talking about? Risking your life, for the good of the distant future, despite it not being an absolute?" 

"What?" 

Hands placed on his hips, Ja'far solemnly looked down, in disbelief of the words he was hearing. "I've never heard anything so pathetic— you make me want to cry, Sin. I've never seen you so weak. Your fixation on the future is _foolish._ " 

His face was feeling hot, now. 

"Sure. Say the Alliance dissipates sometime, say there's _war_ at some point— but _who cares about that?_ Sin, there are people in that time that will handle that, just as _we_ have, and they may very well have absolutely nothing to do with you or your aspirations!" 

They shared a glimpse of eye contact, finally, but it was more frustrating than if they didn't. 

"You _can't_ protect the future, forever— if you think you can, you've lost sight of yourself!" 

He was becoming desperate to wake up, but he couldn't stop the words from pouring out of his chest. 

"So I'll tell _you!_ " Ja'far shouted, forcing Sin to get a full look at him. "You're a _king's vessel,_ not God's! You're leading a nation, a company, isn't that _enough?_ We've thereby fulfilled _our_ dream!" 

He took a step forward, taking sunkissed, calloused hands in his own, uncertain of why tears were trickling down onto his cheeks. 

"Even you have limitations, and you _must_ leave things to the future— don't run away now, Sinbad." 

Ja'far awoke from this with a start, drenched in sweat, and dreading the fact that he'd have to find his shower shoes to go use the communal restroom to wash off his face. 

·

* * *

·

Friday's lecture was given by the proper professor of the course, due to there being an exam scheduled for the following week— and Ja'far, admittedly, was growing even more concerned about Sin. 

This was irritating Yamraiha, who was currently turned in the opposite direction of him, thin blue eyebrows knitted together as she intently scribbled down notes for the test. She wasn't one to be so diligent in her work in the classroom setting, which indicated to him that something definitely had gone awry. 

As the ending hour drew near, he took the initiative to try and form a conversation with the girl. "Did I do something, Yamraiha?" He dared to question her, mulling over the potential options that could have produced this negligent behavior, but kept coming up dry. She was pushing her notebook into her backpack when she chose to look up at him, their eye contact brief, and anything but friendly. 

"You didn't text me the other day." That was it? "I was worried, Ja'far." There was no usual shrill to her tone, but rather it held the quality of a genuinely concerned friend. "I don't know what's going on with you, but I wish you'd just talk to me, instead of avoiding me." 

"I haven't been! I've just been. . . busy, I guess." He followed suit in gathering his things, padding out of the lecture hall by her side. "I'm sorry for worrying you, I didn't really think you'd notice." 

Admittedly, Ja'far had never had much of a maintained friendship, having spent the majority of his youth sitting by himself at lunch tables in crowded cafeterias. He had never much seen the point in getting to know anyone, or letting anyone get to know him, conversely. It was a breath of fresh air to have people that consistently desired his presence, but he couldn't help but keep his distance to the best of his ability. 

His phone buzzed, and he was glad he changed Sin's contact name, as the other one set by the man himself felt far too formal. 

**Message from: Sin**

_come have a drink with me tonight_

Yamraiha's wandering blue eyes had seen the message, and she was back to herself, as if on cue. "It's fine, but we really have to talk about this weird dude that's following you around like a lost puppy." Choosing to not tap out his response yet, the device was slipped back down into the depths of his pocket. "I did some sleuthing, for you, and apparently, he's a huge man-whore, which is even more absurd if he's dating that Dragul guy." 

It was a pleasant, crisp autumn day, so they opted to walk and talk, rather than finding themselves in the usual location of the student union. 

"What do you mean?" 

"He likes to sleep with girls that are younger than him and then never speak to them again, is what I was being told." 

Pausing their stride, Ja'far pondered this information with a thoughtful expression. He wasn't quite sure why, but he wanted to make a remark about how Sin has always been notorious as the Lady Killer of the Seven Seas. He bit his tongue to keep that comment to himself. Why had this not come as a surprise? Perhaps it was just the general disposition of Sin— he certainly didn't seem like someone who was lacking experience with women, just in how he carried himself. 

"I thought that would bother you more?" A pale hand was waved in front of his face, as though to attempt to bring him back to this realm. "Hello? Ja'far? Sheesh, have you slept? Anyways, I forbid you from drinking with him alone. He's too charming for your own good." 

"You're kind of bossy, mother." Tacking on the name as an affectionate joke, he was now being stared at, albeit coldly. Ja'far was indeed aware that this was her own way of showing that she really did harbor a great amount of care for him, but it still felt a little strange to be the subject of such demands. "Even if I do go see him, I can assure you, I won't do anything dumb. I've never held someone's hand, I find it near-impossible to bed me." 

"Yeah, unless it's a pair of yellow eyes and a dumb looking purple ponytail doing it. Anyways, I have a date of my own, tonight, so don't give me reason to be overly anxious about you during it."

"With _who?_ "

"Based on how it goes, I'll let you know. But I can assure you, me leaving it to save you from the clutches of evil would not be a good look."

They shared a laugh over the way she decided to describe Sinbad, him not attempting to tell her she was wrong about it. They parted ways, with him requesting that she let him know she returned safe from her date tomorrow morning. 

·

* * *

·

He listened to his friend's regards, and stayed put in his dorm room. Even though it was Friday. Even though there was a handsome grad student that was specifically requesting his company. Even though he would've liked to know what it felt like to have someone's tongue down his throat, leaving him endlessly gasping for breath. 

Curled up in the confines of his uncomfortable dorm bed, Ja'far's cellphone illuminated his features from where he was underneath his comforter. He could have been in a softer, satin lined bed, at this very moment, yet, he was fearful for reasons outside of Yamraiha's incessant complaints— he could convince himself that this was because he was advised not to, yet he knew he wouldn't of allowed himself to take Sinbad's company, regardless. 

It was hard to explain why. 

**Message from: Sin**

_you could just reject me instead of avoiding, i would understand_

Ah, that was what had slipped his mind: setting up an excuse as to why he was unable to meet with his T.A., preoccupied with the onslaught of constant possibilities. 

**Message sent:**

_It isn't intentional, but I guess maybe it'd be better for us to just be friends, or not, if you'd rather that_

There was no way that Sinbad was genuinely interested in him, so he felt no remorse in turning him down, politely. They had no genuine connection with one another, so it didn't make any sense as to why the man was so horrifically insistent on getting Ja'far's attention. He had hoped that this would be the end of this constant weird nightmare, and he could return to spending his evenings carefree, rather than feeling hopelessly confused. 

**Message from: Sin**

_i guess_

**Message from: Sin**

_i'm kind of drunk so i'm just going to spit this out while i can_

**Message from: Sin**

_i'm sure you have heard things about me and that's why you're acting like this but i can assure you thst this isn' t what you think it is_

The messages were becoming increasingly difficult to read, he noted. 

**Message from: Sin**

_i use people but i dojt want to us e you ahain, jafar, ill never lie to you u again, i learnedm y lesson_

Ja'far inhaled slowly, attempting to decipher what was meant by this notion of a lie, and being used— from his understanding, they barely even knew each other, let alone having interacted with one another. 

**Message sent:**

_It's okay, I should have known you and Dragul were involved with each other, you weren't dishonest about it and I didn't feel used_

Considering that was likely what this whole ordeal was about, he didn't much want to continue this conversation, as it wasn't going to go much further, anyways. 

**Message from: Sin**

_i'm not dating drskon_

The blatant lying was getting rather frustrating, though. 

**Message sent:**

_Are you that desperate to talk to me that you'd lie about your own boyfriend_

**Message from: Sin**

_why do you peg me a s such an asful person? i'm not involved w/ drakon_

**Message sent:**

_Why won't you leave me alone? I'm just in a class you teach_

He felt blessed when he had finally achieved his goal of not getting a text back, but couldn't help the lingering hollowness that had rested itself in his heart. 

·

* * *

_·_

"For one that proclaims he was a High King in his past life, you certainly are one of the least elegant people I have ever had the displeasure of dealing with." Sinbad was currently draped over Dragul's lap on the couch, having forced him to move his laptop so he could take it's place. "Would you at the very least tell me what's your issue today?" 

"Ja'far hates me." 

He could practically feel his roommate pinching the bridge of his nose, even if he wasn't directly looking at him— keeping his eyes shut helped to make the world spin a little slower, which he perceived as being a great benefit to him. He'd rather be annoying than throwing up. 

"I would too." 

"Okay! But! It's not a joke this time!" 

"Have you considered allowing the people who's lives you apparently ruined to live normal ones without you in them?" 

There was sudden guilt splayed all over Drakon's tired expression, he noticed, as he removed himself from the aforementioned position. Sin felt like he was going to throw up, now, but it wasn't from his habit of overdrinking. 

His blood felt like ice. 

"Sin, wait, I didn't mean that—" 

"It's fine. I'm going to bed. Goodnight, Drakon." 

He wished their interaction could have been longer, but he wasn't much in the mood to try and tear his only friend to pieces in retaliation for the off-color comment. In the past week, Sin had become pretty certain that the world was ending, yet not in the way he remembered it. 

At least his bed was still nice. 

He was extremely fucking drunk, he ascertained, and this was being enhanced by how disgustingly upset he had become— alcohol and women were once his only way of pretending to be human, and now, they were the only things that consistently kept him tied to flesh and blood. It was this battle of feeling so hopelessly empty on this godforsaken rock, and chasing anything that could help him mimic what he once was. 

Sinbad wanted Hinahoho's gruff laughter when he came to cheer him up, he wanted Yamraiha's insistency to make him a cup of tea, he wanted Sharrkan as his drinking buddy, he wanted Pisti's vibrant gaze to see right through him. He wanted Spartos' timid advice to an arrogant king. He wanted Drakon's gratitude. He wanted Masrur's blank stare, accompanied by words of reassurance that never quite met his expression. 

But most of all, he wanted to be in his quarters in Parthevia, to see a head of white hair rushing in-between the doors, demanding that he apologize to Kougyoku. He wanted to listen to Ja'far, he wanted to pull him close, and he wanted to hear Ja'far's tear-stricken voice tell him that he had done enough, and to just come _home._

Every moment of every waking day, Sinbad craved the constant understanding that he had been blessed with the moment he saved Ja'far from falling to depravity, and he had been able to shatter all of that in a mere night. 

It couldn't end like this.

Tapping Ja'far's phone number into his dial pad, he shakily hit the green call button, ready to finally pour his heart directly onto the ground in front of him, like he should have done so long ago— he just hadn't expected Ja'far to actually _answer._

"I thought I had said to leave me—" 

"Stop. Let me speak. Please." He was fully aware of how drunk he sounded, but he wasn't willing to let that stop his insatiable momentum. "Ja'far, I _love_ you. I have always, every single day of this life, loved you. I have always looked for you, in every crowd, in every face, in every little corner of this world." With the semblance of a hiccup, he couldn't stop now— it was, inevitably, one of Sin's fatal character flaws: the inability to shut up once he started. " _Please_ give me a chance here." 

"You sound absolutely insane." 

"I am, when it concerns you. You used to tell me that."

"I should call the police and file a restraining order." It didn't sound sincere, and reminded him of something Ja'far would have teased him with when he was trying to draw out that horrifically infectious smile. "But for some reason, that sounds near identical to something you've said in my dreams." 

"You dream about me?" 

"Nightly, actually. _Can you tell me what's going on?_ " 

Sinbad paused briefly, trying to sort out the ideology that Ja'far was not only listening to him, but was also somewhat aware of the circumstances. 

There was no way he remembered, right? 

"Yes. I can. Stop avoiding me." 

With Drakon, it also started with dreams. Of places he had felt he had never been, of a woman who spoke with all the conviction in the world, of Serendine. Of Parthevia. Of their first meeting in the dungeon of Baal. He may not fully understand, still, but he _trusted_ Sinbad, and Sin knew that to be true. 

"Okay." 

"What are the dreams of?" He was desperately hoping to recall the contents of this conversation by the time the sun had risen. 

"You. Palaces. The ocean. People I have never seen before, names I have never heard before. They always feel hazy, yet so clear." 

"Good." 

Ja'far was breathing into the receiver, a sound that brought a distant comfort to Sinbad's anxious demeanor. "You lied to me." 

"I had to." 

·


End file.
